


The Only Way

by kittymsmith



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: (at least mostly), Angst, Angst and Humor, Canon Compliant, Gen, Humor, Implied Relationships, Light Romance, also because mar he knows who he is, bloodhound and loba have a disagreement, crypto plays a small role, hopefully you feel something, its an experiment because I find it a fascinating dynamic, loba hates rev duh, revenant being an angsty hoe, this isn't heavy shipping its
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29174244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittymsmith/pseuds/kittymsmith
Summary: They were tense. He bet if he jabbed them in the shoulder all those little strings of muscle would snap apart like rubber bands. He was pretty sure that’s what they thought he was about to do when he put his hand there without warning. “Good?”Their chest rose and slowly fell. “Fine.” They said.----In which Bloodhound isn't fine, and Revenant decides to try and fix something for once.That doesn't mean it works.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Revenant (Apex Legends)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Eyyyyyy here's a rarepair for y'all.
> 
> Yeah, this isn't really my typical thing, is it? The fact is that I don't really ship the two as a robot/human pairing, but the potential dynamic between them as some sort of companions fascinates me-especially when it comes to Bloodhound's established friendship with Loba. Now a human Revenant I find very interesting as well because, again, the dynamic between a staunchly religious character and basically the "I know God isn't real because I've died" atheist is interesting, romantic or not, especially since their characters can be said to interweave in other areas; the first an only example off the top of my head being BH talks about "survival of the fittest" in at least one quip and this seems to be something that might align with Revenant.
> 
> Do I actually think they would ever befriend or, God forbid, pursue Revenant romantically?...No. But do I find the idea fascinating and interesting enough to do a short piece on it?...Yes. Maybe even more, or a continuation of this considering the ending. I think one can say that I was particularly inspired by a friend of mines passion for it. 
> 
> Anyway, with all said and done, I hope you enjoy it, whether it's your usual ship or not.

They were tense. He bet if he jabbed them in the shoulder all those little strings of muscle would snap apart like rubber bands. He was pretty sure that’s what they thought he was about to do when he put his hand there without warning. “Good?”

Their chest rose and slowly fell. “Fine.” They said.

He left them alone.

Their third was Crypto. He was one of the better ones; didn’t ask questions, could get his drone to the little corners Bloodhound’s ult didn’t reach, and was half decent with a wingman. He also paid attention to everything like the paranoid rodent he was. Useful when Bloodhound scouted ahead. All Revenant had to do was look at him and he said, “Loba’s mad at them.”

He scoffed. “What, they use her lipstick for their warpaint again?”

“They did what?”

Aw shit, wait. That was supposed to go under his NDA file. Maybe his stupid skinbag brain was finally rotting. “What’d they do?”

“You’re really going to ask me that?  _ Meongcheonghan ssibal _ .”

“I can translate three hundred languages, you know.”

“I know.”

“So…?”

“You can use that tin can head of yours.”

“How about I just gut you?” He felt his leg move and looked down to see Bloodhound had, of course, returned right then and kicked him.

“No one is ahead, but there is a building on high ground we should get to.” They said.

“How about we go do something useful, like killing?”

“Patience, _andskoti_.” They waved their hand, Crypto retracting his drone and following. “Crypto will keep an eye out; the ring should pull them to us and we can fell them from a distance.”

“I don’t have a sniper.” He said.

“What?” They glanced behind them, their annoyance visible in the angle of their shoulders. “I advised you to pick one up earlier for a  _ reason. _ ”

“Yeah.” He said, eyeing their triple take.

They didn’t even have to look at him. “Let this be a lesson.”

Crypto chuckled, even when Revenant glared at him. He took it back; Crypto might follow orders or whatever, but he was one of the most annoying of the skinsuits. Period. Except for Bloodhound when they were making him “learn from his actions”. Sure, he learned-learned that they’d be real pissed when they saw him in the field pushing whatever parties were moving in from the ring.

Except he didn’t do that, this time. Because they were definitely already in one of their little moods, and even though it wasn’t at him this time he didn’t want to risk changing that and dealing with whatever passive-aggressive bullshit they would unleash. So he stayed and bitched in the house on the hill, peeling wood off the walls with his fingers and wandering out the back door periodically in the hope somebody would shoot him.

Please, please somebody shoot him.

He blinked and he was on his hands and knees, staring at the porch. Black oil dripped from the cloth banding along his spine, falling in slug-like piles. He looked up as Bloodhound jumped out and started shooting, Crypto yelling, “Loba, kreber!”

_ Of course, it was that fucking girl. _

He crawled into a corner as Loba and her team, Pathfinder and Wattson, descended. Bloodhound tried to empty a clip into her, but she dodged most of it while Path hooked Crypto and knocked his shields out. Wattson knocked Bloodhound in the back on her way to him, where she caught him in a triangle of fences, giggling. “Hope you weren’t too  _ shocked _ , Revenant.”

“Fuck off,” he said. One eye was covered in oil, but the other was still clear, staring at Bloodhound and Loba. They were sparring, having apparently run out of ammo. Wait, no, he’d given Bloodhound like 200 light rounds earlier, they were just…fighting to fight?

Yeah, she really was wailing on them-and they were playing defense, blocking her punches with their forearms and ducking from her legs when she swung them. They’d get a good hit or two in, but their little human heart wasn’t in it, while Loba was out for blood.

Of course, that little asshole was right. They hadn't been subtle enough.

He died midway through his sigh, waking up in a utility closet that had been converted into, well,  _ his _ utility closet. He didn’t exactly have many personal effects that he needed space for, though the Syndicate still made him one of those dumpy dorms everyone else had on the ship. He’d actually started setting the closet as his “deposit after respawn” point because it pissed the Syndicate off.

He stepped out and turned around, glancing at the shelf near the ceiling. There was a bird skull. A beaded strip of leather with a black feather tied off at the end. A tiny black Nessie doll Wattson had put on the floor of his closet Christmas Eve. “She hates you,” Bloodhound had told him, “but I would try to be flattered. Caustic got a lump of actual coal.”

He didn’t know if he was flattered…but he’d kept it.

He came into the common room. Everyone else ignored him, usually. Mirage was always good for a little screech now and then, but the entertainment lasted about as long as cotton candy in the rain. Had he ever had cotton candy? Hm. He had the weird impression there’d been a fair, once, and a girl. But he let that slip away like all the rest.

Bloodhound was near the East exit across from him. As he approached, they nodded their head to the side, an offer to walk. He shook his head. They crossed their arms.  _ Oh, don’t pout,  _ he thought, half waving at them while heading left down the hall, toward the workout rooms. Loba was in the one at the end, standing under one of four stage lights, silently taking it all out on a boxing bag. If there was one thing he missed from when he was a lump of meat in a paper wrapping, it was sweating. It was the burn in the lungs, and the pull of muscles breaking and building and breaking again. He didn’t know when or for how long, but he’d done that a lot, and he’d woken up from dreams between lives thinking about it.

It was one of the things he hated humans for  most of all.

“What the  _ fuck  _ do you want, demonio?” She threw a particularly brutal punch at the bag before turning to him. Her hair was out of place. It looked like she’d wiped at her eyes; then again, her makeup did just kind of look like that. “I  _ said  _ what do you  _ want _ , demonio?”

“Source code, mostly.”

She wailed on the bag again, silent.

God, was he really doing this? Yeah, he was. He walked up to her, she stepped back, always keeping a person's length between them. He couldn’t kill her here, unfortunately. Source code aside, “Friendly Fire” was off on any Apex property since Bloodhound almost decapitated Caustic that one time. Heh. That’s when he’d first thought they might be different. “Why are you mad at Bloodhound?”

She stared, almost seeming caught off guard. “You can’t be serious.”

He stared.

“Oh my God, you’re serious?”

“I may be an undead immortal murder robot,” he said, “but I still can’t read your mind.”

She pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead, staring at the ceiling. “I’m mad because the robot that murdered my parents is dating my friend.”

“We’re not dating.”

“Then what the hell are you doing?”

“We’re,” _ah, fuck,_ “I don’t know.”

“Mm. Well they seem to find you interesting enough to hang around,” she said bitterly. “Even with what you did. And  _ you  _ seem to like them enough to tell them things.”

“Things?”

She put her hands on her hips, meeting his eyes. “Something about being human again. You decided you’re going to live forever and torture me then? Shall I throw away that source code?”

Whoa,  _ whoa, whoa, whoooa.  _ They were  _ not  _ supposed to tell anyone that-especially not to his only ticket to sweet fuckin’ release.  _ We’re gonna have a fucking talk, hunter…wait, shit, fuck, are we a thing?  _ Fuck, fuckity-fuckin’ ‘ay fuck. He had to file that away, left feeling like he was at the bottom of the ocean on Gaea again, wondering how the hell he was gonna get out of this one. Then the water pressure had been so high he could barely move his legs, and right now that same weight was resting on the cogs in his head. He wasn’t sure which way to go first. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he said.

“I don’t even get it. I don’t. Not them, and especially not you.” Oh no, was she gonna do that little skinbag rant thing? Oh, she was. Ew, she was getting emotional. “I can’t believe they’d-they’d even  _ entertain  _ the idea of you on any level, but I can almost understand it. They’re so sweet…maybe they think they could change you. Though why they’d want to redeem a  _ demonio _ like you escapes me.”

He almost said ‘they don’t know either’, but kept his mouth shut. She was smarter than most the skinsuits, but he didn’t care about her. She was interesting in bursts, then fizzled out like everyone else. He couldn’t give less of a shit when it came to Loba Andrade outside of what she had for him-except for the fact that she was Bloodhound’s friend. Their only friend. A friend who was mad at them. And, you know, for good reason; even he could see the logic in that. It was probably tearing them up to bits, and they’d probably bottle it up. Pretend. They did like to hide things in that little rabbit-beat heart of theirs, an ironic sound in the ribcage of a hunter that he’d always kind of liked cause it was easy to pick out. But that was irrelevant.

“And you-again, I don’t see it. I don’t get it. What about them makes you so-so…not you.” She furrowed her brow at him. “What about them makes you want to keep living forever?”

He made a face. Or, he would have, if he still had one. “Nothing makes me want to live forever, girlie.” He calculated his words, the risk. The reward. “But if I can go out a little less miserable than usual, I’ll take it.”

As expected, her eyebrows went high, and she stepped back, staring at him. Her words were clipped, “how very human of you.”

“Guess it’s the skinbag left in me,” he replied.

She was quiet for a while. “You never did tell me what you wanted.”

He sighed, knowing she could hear the huff of hair flitting around his insides. “Forgive them.”

“No.”

He. Would. Not. Say. Please. “Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, demonio. And you can’t force me.”

“Can I convince you?” God, he couldn’t believe that just came out of his voice box. But it might be working, cause she was doing that staring thing again. She pulled one hand to her chin, then slowly pointed at him with one of those blood-red nails.

“I will forgive them,” She said, slowly, “if, when the day comes, they’re the one to put the bullet in your stinking, rotting head.”

He could almost feel himself swallow. He knew she could hear it. He’d nearly forgotten how vindictive people could get. How when you weren’t angry  _ all the time  _ you had time to think, and thinking led to hurting someone worse than a bullet or a blade ever could. “That’s the only way?”

“The only way besides never talking to you again.”

He backed off, metal feet scraping against the concrete floor. “Fine. I’ll tell them.”

She only nodded.

He left.

Once you knew where to look, the “oh so mysterious and clever hunter” was easy to find. They camped, always, on one of three hills. Or, when forced to live on Olympus most of the week as they were now, holed up in a tiny, ugly flat in the bad part of town. The kind of place where, on Psamathe, Revenant was not worth even a blink. Somebody nearby probably fucked up was all people would think.

When he climbed through the window, he was met with a wingman to the face. It quickly lowered as he continued through the bars that he could just barely “spider-man” his way through, as they said. “Quit that,” they huffed.

“Doors boring.” He swatted Artur away-gently. He’d punted the little fucker once and Bloodhound hadn’t talked to him for two months. “Loba said she’d-“

“You talked to Loba?” Their eyes widened in surprise. They were blue, bright and clear so that they were nearly white. “But how did you know?”

_ You guys are obvious and the hacker, fuck him, is observant.  _ “She said she’d forgive you.”

“I don’t know if I believe that.”

“I mean, you have to…” he paused. “You have to be there when I die.”

They blinked, shoulders relaxing. They had a leather apron around their waist and a flint stone in their hand; they’d been carving arrowheads in the back. The thought of how much he knew about them suddenly felt weird, like a weight in his chest, when he thought about what Loba said earlier. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

They brightened, as much as they tried to dampen it. He wasn’t sure if they did that with everyone or just him. “Well I am already prepared for that so…so yes. Of course.”

“Tell her tomorrow.”

“I will.” They softened, smiling up at him. That weird feeling in his chest was hardening, and then dropped like a stone in his long-dead stomach when they said, “thank you, Revenant.”

He grunted.

They chuckled, scraping the flint against their apron. “You wish to watch me carve?”

He nodded, metal feet silent on the carpet as they crossed to Bloodhound’s bedroom. He sat, cross-legged, on the desk while they took to the chair. They settled a chunk of obsidian on their leg, angled it over newspaper scattered on the ground, and chipped it with the flint. They hit it again and again until they broke off a chunk, about palm sized.

That stone sat, heavy, unmoving. They were satisfied. Happy. And he hadn’t lied; they would be there when he died. Because they were going to kill him, yeah, but it’d be fine….

Who was he kidding.

This wasn’t going to end well.

Then again...was it ever going to?


	2. Cherries and Lemon Balm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moonlight pulls all the secrets out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Some spoilers for Bloodhound's chapter of the Lorebook.
> 
> Mar is an unofficial beta or something idk ty anyway more revhound because this...dynamic is so fucking fascinating. Also, it is easy to be very funny as Revenant.
> 
> Ps spot the symbolism in the totem

Humans were so messy.

They left crumbs and wrappers on tables and got sauce on their faces when they ate, and they left towels on the floor and cigarettes in ash trays. They spilled shit all the time and there were stains they pretended didn’t exist in hard-to-reach places. They aimed for the trash bin but just left it surrounded by paper balls if they missed, and, Christ, do they ever do laundry? How do they always have new clothes when the basket is spilling into the hallway?

Wait, he wasn’t thinking about humans. He was thinking about Bloodhound. Bloodhound was messy.

So fucking messy.

Some residual human memory held his first apartment. Everything was in its place within a inch, and he never used dust lines as guides like Hound did, because he fucking dusted. They thought he hung down from their ceiling to try and spook them, which was totally true, but it had the added bonus of never tripping over yesterdays shirt.

“Seriously do you know how to fucking clean?” He’d said once, early on.

“Does it anger you that I do not?” They replied, squinting at their coffee cup.

“It makes me want to eat children.”

“Then I do not know how to clean, no.” They said, swirling the mug on their way to the couch. He growled. He would have screamed, but if he pissed off the neighbors again, they would make certain their team camped for a whole match next time they squadded up.

“You bitch.”

“Mx. Bitch, thank you.”

“I hate you.”

“If you hate it so much, _you_ pick up my shirt.” They stretched, taking a big gulp of their stupid bean juice. He hated coffee. Smell of it was enough to send his memory banks straight back to his dad’s house, and the only thing that could get him back there was a guaranteed source code and a bottle of Scotch, whether he could drink it or not notwithstanding.

“How about you act like an adult for five minutes?”

They scratched their head, eyes half closed. Their hair was a mess, too. But it was interesting. Stuck out fucking everywhere, couldn’t decide if it was curly or wavy or straight, like a kitchen broom Grandma refused to get rid of. Watching them brush it was like a spectator event. “I am an adult.”

“You’re like a fourteen-year-old left at home alone.”

Their eyes darted over to him. They were blue. And dangerously sharp. “You recall when my uncle died?”

Shit. They _knew_ he knew. Because he couldn’t forget. Ever. He remained silent.

“Pick up the shirt,” they said.

He hated that he did.

And the next, and the next. He put all of it in the basket. And closed the top. Wait, was this a hamper? Ugh, whatever. He’d tidy but he wasn’t about to do a load of laundry. But while he was thinking about it, there was some weird crusty shit at the top of their canned food cupboard that he had to look at all the time, and he wanted it gone. So, he went over, opened it up, and looked at the reddish blob. Jam? He tried to pick it off with his fingers, but the gelatinous mass wouldn’t budge. He turned it to knife mode and even that didn’t work. _What the fuck is this?_

If he had a mouth, his lips would be curling in disgust. This probably wasn’t even their doing, right? They weren’t this gross? This was one of the shittiest possible apartments in the most murder and drug filled part of Psamathe, this had to be somebody else. Or at least, that’s what he’d tell himself.

He got mad at trying to remove it, so he gave up. He dug his knife hand into the wood behind it and with a tug popped a chunk of wood off. It bounced against the ceiling of the cupboard, hit him in the chest and fell to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Bloodhound appeared in the kitchen doorway. They made eye contact, and then they looked down at the chunk of wood, about the size of a baseball. “What is that?”

“Nothing.” He said, closing the cupboard door.

They immediately opened it again and looked up. There was a totally visible hole now. “You fucked my cupboard,” they said.

“I can’t fuck anything.” He said, because some part of his mental processors was still human and, therefore, stupid.

“Get out of my apartment.”

“Okay.”

* * *

“Don’t you have debilitating lung damage?” Revenant leaned against the wall beside Bloodhound after a game. Their respirator was hanging around their neck. Their balaclava stopped halfway up their nose and was open at the mouth, where they held a lit cigarette betwixt their lips. They’d all won the match and were waiting for some bullshit mandatory interview.

“Yes.” They said.

“Then why do you smoke?”

“Why do you care?”

He rolled his eyes. He was kind of glad he could still do that. Take a man’s ability to taste, sleep and fuck, but at least let him sass. “Is this about the fucking cupboard?”

“You fucked in a cupboard?” Octane asked, suddenly looking up from his phone.

“Remove your ears from this conversation, felagi.” Bloodhound said.

Revenant, simultaneously, stated, “I can’t fuck, dumbass.”

“Really? Even Path has an attachment.”

“He has a what?” He and Hound said in unison.

“Yo, Path fucks, dude. Or at least he can, I guess.”

Bloodhound paused, then took out another cigarette, lit it off of their first one and took a long drag out of both. Revenant considered the subject buried.

* * *

He knocked, because he was polite like that. When he was forced to be. But they didn’t come to the door. He knocked harder.

“Go away,” they said, weakly. Weirdly. _Huh._

“I’ll just crawl through the window.” He called back.

He heard the creak of the shitty dented floors, then watched the door open a sliver. _Oh, shit._ He could only see one half of their face, but it was enough. Their eye was puffy and red, and there were tear tracts down their cheek. Despite how much of a grumpy bitch they were, he had no image in his memory banks of them ever frowning quite like that. “The hell is wrong with you?”

They sniffed, face twisting up, lip trembling. “What do you want?”

“Uh…”

“Right, right.” They sniffed heavily and rubbed their sleeve against their eyes. It was their work shirt, the one he’d gotten oil all over that time they stabbed him in the living room. That had been the first time he came in through the window without warning, back when they still thought he wanted to kill them. “Not even you know. But just go.”

He raised an eyebrow. Metaphorically speaking. His voicebox got it across in tone, at least. “You…uh. I need to stab someone?”

They huffed, half rolling their eyes. “Just…bad memories.”

“I have plenty of those. Don’t get why you’re sniveling.”

They suddenly glared at him, baring their teeth and growling, almost wolflike as they pointed at him. “Your memories are older than I ever will be.”

Hm.

Point taken.

Either they were dealing with that weird sad-exhaustion skinbags had or they couldn’t stand the sight of him any longer. Either way, they closed the door. He thought for a moment, and decided to leave it. Let them cool off. He wandered the area until he found a public bathroom and decided to hang out on the ceiling and scare some junkies shitless, literally. That got him a good half hour of entertainment before the cop siren went off in the distance, at which point he elected to return and knock again. They didn’t answer, so he squeezed through the bars on the window again. “Hound?” He announced, mostly to avoid getting stabbed again.

They didn’t respond, but he knew where they were. In their bedroom by their table, carving a fucking duck or something out of wood. They were using moonlight and their movements were steady, but slow. They’d breath deeply and exhale with a shutter periodically, their back rising and then falling with the movement, the vertebra of their spine visible by the dark shadows around them. They were a skinny fucker under all that armor but could lift a buck deer with one arm. It was pretty impressive. For a little fleshbag.

“Just going to stare?” They whispered, “or sit?”

He climbed up in his usual spot, adjusting so he didn’t get in the way of their light. Their mass of hair shielded their face, but their hands, rough and thick skinned from a lifetime of work, carefully held a half carved stick. From the outline, it looked like a person with long, wild hair bursting from autumn leaves, which they’d just begun to detail. He sat in silence for a while, which was their custom, but decided fuck it. “What is that supposed to be?”

They chipped off a corner of a leaf, then the one opposite to match. “Did you ever love someone when you were human?”

Well, that had his drives recalibrating. No one had ever asked him that…It was usually “how could you do this to my family!” or “how could you eviscerate my grandma at a Wendy’s?!” or “can you kill me but in, like, a kinky way?” Last one was….disturbingly common. “I don’t know,” he said finally.

“You remember everything.”

“Files get corrupted. That far back…” He squinted, for the first time actually thinking about it. “There was…a girl. She…liked lemon lip balm.” He watched them continue to carve, to pull out little edges and spaces, make the crude into the beautiful. “I…don’t know if I loved her. But she shouldn’t have been with me.”

“Likely,” they agreed quietly.

“You…loved someone?”

They held up the carving. It always stunned him how fast they worked; the leaves were almost done, the head had a face, a strong jaw and a sharp chin. The hair was twisting between the leaves, some pieces braided, sort of how they put theirs up. Somehow the eyes were so small, but full of life. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Bloodhound look that alive. The man was half shrouded by the pelt of a wolf. “Boone,” they said, after an unnaturally long pause.

He committed that image to memory, of them holding up the carving, their mouth held open just an inch as they slowly turned it. “What happened?”

“He was killed by the óséður. A creature that can mirror its environment, so as to seem invisible.” Their lips became a hard line, and he saw tears brimming in their eyes again. _Jesus Christ please don’t._ He couldn’t deal with crying people when he was human, let alone as an apathetic murder bot. “We had…had a fight over the creature, he wanted to take it while it hibernated, without fight. I could not believe it and…the words were cruel. And then he took it anyway and ran off.” They sniffed and rubbed their eyes. “I was so _fucking_ mad.”

 _Ooooh, ho-ho._ Bloodhound said fuck about as often as Revenant said thank you. His interest was piqued. But also like…the fuck? Even he would have waited for the thing to wake up. No fun if you don’t have a fight. And morals or whatever if you’re Bloodhound. 

“I f-followed him. He’d taken it to the Thunderdome, to be part of the sport. He saw me and, well, the distraction…he didn’t see the óséður escape, and it cut him across, and he was dead before I could hold him. B-Because he paid me attention instead of the cage.”

“Uh…shit. What was it like…five years ago?”

“Twenty,” they mumbled, taking a deep breath and going back to the carving. “I…apologies. I have just been thinking of him lately.”

 _Why,_ he wanted to ask. He wanted to know, suddenly, what could make someone like Bloodhound act like…this. Some…sniveling, shriveled child. Even all that shit with Loba had just made them sad or whatever, but this was…weird. And the harder he thought about it, the less he was sure he’d ever felt something like it. Even if it was pretty stupid to be hung up on some dude you met when you were…doing math…fucking seventeen?

He furrowed his brow, so to speak, and got off the desk. They looked up at him with an actual furrowed brow, and watched him walk around their chair to the other side of them, half in shadow, and sit down on a stool they usually used as a footrest. They blinked, cocking their head at him, about eye level.

He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. His voice was calm, even. “Tell me about him.”

They sat up straight, confused, staring at him, looking for reason. Any reason. Because Revenant didn’t say those kinds of things. They leaned back, gripping the carving. A monolith, he decided, to one of billions of nonexistent souls. He watched them swallow, and gaze to the side, and dig their nail into the desk. Finally, they parted their lips.

“He liked cherries,” they said. “And would smile just for fun.”

**Author's Note:**

> Meongcheonghan ssibal - "dumb fuck"


End file.
